


Conscience and Confessions

by china_shop



Category: Canadian Actor RPF, Fandom RPF, due South
Genre: Crack, Fic, Ice Cream, Llamas, M/M, Mary Sue, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-17
Updated: 2006-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:06:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's just that some of the AUs are more plausible than others," you conclude triumphantly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conscience and Confessions

You've been looking pensive all day, even now when we're lying in deckchairs watching (from a polite distance, wearing sunglasses) Ray and Fraser splashing around in the kidney-shaped pool.

"Don't worry about it," I tell you. "It was good. It'll be fine."

You glance at me, then back at Dief who's standing beside the pool, barking. "I just--" You squirm in your chair. "I don't think--" You trail off unhappily.

"Isn't it better to let sleeping wolves lie?" I ask. "Or will you only feel better if you confess?"

You give me a lopsided grin. "Confess? That's your Catholic gene talking again."

"I don't have any Catholic genes, just a talent for guilt. Anyway, stop changing the subject." I sit up. "You know, you could talk to them about it. I hardly think that after everything they've been through here, they'll be particularly surprised."

You bite your lip at the thought, but nod a little.

"I mean, you don't _have_ to," I add hastily. "I'm just saying. You should do _something_ if it's going to make you all distracted and mopey. I mean," I gesture toward the pool, "we really should be appreciating the view, not lying here fretting."

"I know," you say in a small voice. You lie back and watch Ray and Fraser for a while longer, but you still don't seem very happy. But it's your choice.

I shrug. "If you decide to talk to them, I'll come with you. But I think you're worrying about nothing."

We lie in the sun until I can feel my nose turning pink, and I suggest we move indoors.

"Maybe next time we see them," you mutter, as you gather your book, towel, and sunscreen together.

"Okay," I say, with no intention of holding you to it if you change your mind.

   


* * *

   
We go to the coffee shop for gelato, and Hugh and Callum are there, sitting by the open window, teasing each other. You tense and look at me, and I grab your arm and drag you inside, determined not to let your qualms spoil our holiday. "If it's bugging you, _talk_ to them," I whisper.

"And say _what_?" you hiss.

"You wrote a story about them and you're sorry? I don't know."

"But it's not--" You scowl at me for being so dense but I'm busy choosing flavours of gelato and don't notice. (Ha!) By the time I've paid and got a dish with five scoops of different coloured sorbets and ice cream, you've squared your shoulders and are walking over to them. I grab three more spoons and hurry after you.

Hugh narrows his eyes when he sees us approach, but then Callum kicks him under the table and they both smile.

"Hi," you say, hovering.

Callum nods, and Hugh leans back in his chair so he can see both of us.

"Hi," I echo, coming up behind you, making you jump. (Sorry.)

"Um," you say. "I, uh, I was-- Do you mind if we sit down?"

"Help yourself," says Hugh, grinning in a way I don't quite trust.

Callum waves a hand toward the two empty chairs beside them. I try not to get distracted by his hands.

You sit down and eat a mouthful of raspberry sorbet absent-mindedly, and then say, "Listen. I just wanted to say sorry. Because. Well, see. I'm sort of a writer. And." You take a mouthful of chocolate ice cream. "I sort of wrote a story about you."

Callum raises his eyebrows. "About us?"

"Can we read it?" ask Hugh. "Did you turn us into superheroes?"

You choke and splutter for a moment, and I thump you on the back until you've recovered. "Not exactly," you wheeze. "It's not--well, it's not really about _you_. That's sort of the problem. It's--"

I press my lips together and clasp my hands in my lap, spoon and all, making myself stay out of it, because I have an overwhelming impulse to slap my hand over your mouth and drag you outside before you can say anything incriminating. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. I remind myself that this whole scenario is fictional, but it doesn't really help that much. I feel my cheeks get hot to match my sunburned nose.

"It's sort of personal, really. Sort of a, well, um. A fantasy. Sort of thing." You stare intently at the table top.

"Oh," says Callum. "Can we, uh, read it?" His face is a cipher.

"No," you say firmly. "Because it's, not. Not about you. Really. That's the thing. It's KWC, and I-- I'm sorry."

"KWC?" repeats Hugh, frowning and leaning forward over the table. "What the fuck is KWC?"

"Well," you say, miserably, "it's--" You take another mouthful of raspberry.

I wait for a minute, but you don't seem able to finish the sentence. "Kink Without Characterisation," I supply helpfully.

You glance at them, nod confirmation, and then drop your gaze again.

"Kink?" asks Callum. "What kind of kink?"

"I'd. Um. Rather. I'd rather not. Um. Say," you stutter, looking wildly embarrassed. "Please."

Hugh's still frowning. "You wrote about us doing it?"

"Yes, but-- not you. Not really. Just-- your names? And maybe--"

"And maybe some characteristics that we extrapolated from, y'know, interviews and roles and stuff," I cut in.

"And Hard Core Logo," you nod, distracted. "Because that was so documentary-like, and all the interviews said--"

Hugh interrupts you with a bone-shaking cackle of laughter. "Did you hear that?" he said to Callum, reaching across the table and punching him lightly on the arm.

"Yeah," said Callum, who's smiling faintly, mostly at Hugh's amusement.

Hugh looks from you to me and back again. I keep my mouth shut. _I_ don't feel any compulsion _whatsoever_ to confess. He's grinning, but there's a gleam in his eye. "Do you make a habit of this kind of thing?"

"No." You shake your head. "But she does." You point at me.

I gasp and glare at you, and then try desperately to look innocent. I fail miserably.

Hugh tilts his head, considering.

"It's not like it's hurting anyone," I say, feebly.

"Yeah," you say. "If we hadn't told you, you'd never know."

I kick you under the table, and then remember that telling them was my idea, and mouth "sorry".

Hugh's obviously still processing this. In the meantime, Callum's snagged a spoon and is munching his way through lemon and lime sorbet with pistachios. We watch in silence. I pick at the dry skin around my thumbnail.

Finally Hugh runs his hand through his hair and says, "So how would you like it if we wrote stuff like that about you two?"

My jaw drops. We blink at him dumbly.

We turn to each other. The corner of your mouth twitches. I snort.

We both burst into breathless hysterical giggles.

"Would you?" I plead. "Because, wow. That would be--"

"Nooooo," you say. "I mean, by all means," you add, to Hugh, "write what you like. But I don't want to _read_ it. Because, no!"

"I'll try not to take that personally," I tease, when I can get my breath back. "And uh, yeah, I don't want to read it either. Because, no! But I might _have_ to, because, oh god, that would be hilarious. If _you_ \--" I point at Hugh, and burst into giggles again, wondering whether now's a good time to ask whether or not he can punctuate to save his life.

"But disturbing," you point out, sobering up slightly.

I wipe tears of laughter from my cheeks, and pat your arm. "It's okay. I think it'd have the credibility of, uh, something that completely lacks credibility."

"KWC," says Callum, speaking up again. He lights a cigarette. I refrain from complaining.

"Even if you got the characterisation right, it wouldn't be us," you object.

"It could be." I scratch my nose absently. "It could be AU us. I mean, that's--"

"Yeah." You nod. "Yeah, you're right."

"Yeah, because that's what AU is," I say. "It's all AU. All fanfic and RPS. Everything. I mean, none of it's _real_."

"It's just that some of the AUs are more plausible than others," you conclude triumphantly.

Hugh chucks you on the cheek, and then picks up the last remaining spoon, but Callum's polished off the ice cream while the rest of us were deep in discussion, so I go and get more. When I come back, Hugh's teasing you about slashing us, and Callum's teasing Hugh about us slashing them, and I put the dish in the middle of the table and sit down, relieved that a) they haven't called the Ship's Purser to have us incarcerated, b) or Fraser, and c) that you look happy and relaxed again.

I inch my chair surreptitiously closer to Callum and take a deep breath to see what he smells like (cigarette smoke, mostly), and he doesn't seem to mind at all.


End file.
